Ten Minutes Ago
by sekdaniels
Summary: Even death can't keep apart friends as close as this. Written for Round 12 of the QLFC.


Author's Note: Written for Round 12 of the QLFC

Team: Pride of Portree

Position: Beater 1

Beater 1 Prompt: write about two characters in a platonic friendship (Albus Dumbledore/ Minerva McGonagall)

Prompts Used:

4 (word) name

10 (quote) "I speak the truth, not my fill of it, but as much as I dare speak, and I dare to do so a little more as I grow old." - Michael Eyquem de Montaigne

Word Count (excluding Author's Note): 2805

Author's Note on content: I have it in my head that chess pieces, Muggle or otherwise, would not respond to the command of a witch or wizard inside a portrait. Their existence is now of another plane and does not affect this world in the same way. For this reason, we will see the manual manipulation of chess pieces.

Beta Love: Many thanks to all my betas: Arhtea, Fragilereality, Story,Please, LittleTee, and Sehanine. I couldn't do it without you.

 **Ten Minutes Ago**

Minerva pressed her back into the cabinet and strained her neck.

 _Just a little more room would be perfect._

He watched as she turned, putting her hands on her hips in frustration, and staring at the offending piece of furniture.

"It's just going to have to be moved," she said, aloud.

"Oh, is that so?"

He didn't need her to turn around to be sure she knew who it was.

"Indeed, Albus. If I'm going to have the view of the Quidditch pitch I desire, then this blasted cabinet of collected memories is just going to have to find another home."

She flicked her wrist and carefully lifted the furniture up and away from the wall. She slowly guided it toward the middle of the Headmaster's office where she set it down. It wasn't a permanent solution. She only wanted to see if a change in placement would solve her problem.

He observed quietly as she walked over to the gap along the east wall and slid herself up against it. She rose up onto the tips of her toes.

"No!" she cried out in frustration. "This will _never_ do!"

"Minerva." Albus smiled down at his friend from his portrait hanging just over the desk along with west side of the office. "Aren't you taking this all a bit too seriously?"

"How can you say that, Albus?!" Incredulous did not begin to describe the Headmistress of Hogwarts in that moment. She was going to have to massage her forehead to retrieve her eyebrows.

"We are talking about my view for the rest of time," she exclaimed. "And I want it to include every Hogwarts Quidditch match ever played on _that_ pitch!"

Albus gave a quiet snicker of satisfaction and shook his head as though to convey that he knew enough than to contradict her in this moment. Minerva smiled too, albeit behind her back where he could not see. He knew what she was thinking — that they had been friends for far too long for Albus to make the mistake of challenging her when she was in this frame of mind. He knew full well he was right about _that_.

"This other cabinet of junk will have to go, as well," she harrumphed as she moved the second wardrobe out and away from the wall. It clanked and shuddered as the assorted junk inside it rolled around and Minerva found herself having to truly concentrate in order to control it.

"Whatever did you have in there, Albus?" she asked pointedly, looking up at him for the first time that day.

"I don't think any of that was me," he answered placidly. "I think that was left over from Headmaster Dippet."

"And you never cleared it out?"

Albus could see that she was clearly dumbfounded and he suppressed some glee that he could still do that to her. He shrugged in answer to her question and Minerva grumbled in exasperation.

"It _is_ what you enjoy most about our relationship, Minerva," he teased, giving her a wink.

She returned a tight-lipped smile, but would not grant him the satisfaction of out-and-out agreement.

She walked back to the wall. A smile spread across her face.

"Almost."

She raised her wand and summoned a chair. Gingerly, she stepped up and onto the seat and peered out again, slowly charming it to grow in height until she achieved just the right panorama.

She looked out across the fields toward the glow of the setting sun glinting off the sheen on the grass.

Then she looked up and across the room at her friend. They were almost at eye-level.

"Perfect," she said.

"Agreed."

Minerva made a quick sketch of the placement and a few notes on suggested locations for the cabinets which would need to be moved. She then proceeded to move the furniture back to where it had been. She settled herself down at her desk to finishing detailing her final wishes for her portrait before rolling up the parchment and bringing forward a table from the far corner of the room. It contained an interrupted game of chess.

Albus always felt a deep sense of satisfaction when he watched Minerva handle the pieces. He had gifted her the set when he passed on; a Muggle set, of course. He was nothing if not eclectic.

"Your move, I believe," she said, looking up, still turning a well worn pawn between her forefinger and thumb.

"Is it? Hmmm… shame I haven't given it much thought."

"Well, take a look at the board," she said, levitating it up closer to his portrait, "and I'll pour myself a bit of Drambuie."

"A bit early in the day for that, isn't?"

"Judge not, lest ye be judged," she answered good-naturedly as she proceeded to the small, antique bar cart she kept tucked away behind her spare robes in the corner. She poured herself a healthy glass and raised it in a toast to her two-dimensional companion before taking a sip.

"Ready?" she asked, moving the board back down toward her level.

"Queen to F3, if you please." In consideration of her companion's existance in a more ethereal plane, Minerva moved Albus' piece in his stead. Being that the piece was not hers, it did not respond to her voice command, requiring her to place it manually, all of which she did under Albus' watchful eye for accuracy.

She left her hand on the piece and confirmed the move. "Are you certain?"

"Yes," he replied. "Yes, I am sure." And Minerva removed her fingers from his Queen and sat back, assessing the board.

"Hmmm...not bad, old man. Not bad," she said with a smirk. "But you might've left yourself open," she mused, her voice trailing off as she leaned into the board. She was talking more to herself now than she was to him.

"Queen to F3...Queen to F...3…mmmm…"

"I'm not getting any younger, Minerva," Albus teased.

"You're not getting any older, either, Albus." A truer statement could not have been made.

Minerva played it safe, moving a pawn forward along the edge of the board and allowing Albus' Queen to continue on its progress toward her Rook, or at least seem to. She had an idea what he was playing at, but she didn't want to let on just yet.

She floated the board up toward him so he could take in her move.

"Risky, Minerva," he chided pleasantly.

"I suppose it takes one to know one," she said with a smile.

She set the board down on the gaming table and rolled it back toward the opposite side of the expansive office. They only ever played one move at a time, allowing them ample opportunity to converse or sit in each other's comfortable silence. It was the greatest benefit of their enduring friendship; they knew each other thoroughly.

Minerva turned back toward the windows to admire the last rays of the autumn sunset. Her arms folded, across her chest and her drink in her hand. She knew that Albus could see the colors of the setting sun reflected across her skin. He needn't ask her to describe it; her smile said it all.

"I can feel you eyeing the papers on my desk, Albus," she said without looking toward him.

"How good a friend would I be if I didn't offer to share the load?" he replied. She smiled and took a sip out of her glass. They continued in their companionable silence for a few minutes more.

"Is this what got you started with re-arranging a perfectly serviceable office?" He nodded in the direction of the single sheet of parchment that sat so prominently on Minerva's desk. "Thinking about your replacement got you thinking about where you'd like your portrait to go?"

"Shouldn't I be placed where I would have the best view? I see where you ended up! Looking down over this abominable desk for the rest of my days? I think not, Albus."

Minerva's eyes still hadn't left the pitch, even though the sun was now below the horizon and the gloom of night was growing, casting the grounds into shadow.

"No, I will see _this_ for the rest of my days," she said, and sighed. "And argue with you at eye-level, if you don't mind."

Finally, she rejoined her seat and turned over the single fateful piece of parchment.

"Tell me," Albus said, softly.

"It's been a fairly simple process, so far," she replied. "I have some very specific criteria in mind, and it's left me with only a few qualifiers."

"Go on." Albus leaned in as much as any two-dimensional object could.

"I thought it was important that it be someone who'd lived through the last war."

Minerva stopped and unconsciously looked at the empty frame that sat immediately across from her desk. Albus could tell even from his awkward vantage point where she was staring.

"He left us too soon, Minerva," he whispered.

"It should have been _him_ , here," she replied, equally soft. "He should be here, right now. Planning my retirement party…"

"But he's not. He did what he had to do. We all did." It was hard to reflect on those they had lost, but Minerva had taken some deaths especially personally in the twenty-five or so years since the end of the last conflict with Tom Riddle.

Even now, Albus could see the tears glistening on her cheeks as she sat, stock still.

"Minerva?"

"He should at least be here to _help_ me!" she said with sudden fury. She angrily wiped her face with her robe. "How am I supposed to pick a Slytherin to replace me without any valid input?"

"A Slytherin Headmaster?" Albus asked. He feigned surprise, but he had had a sense of which way Minerva was leaning for some time now.

"The history of Headmasters at Hogwarts has been a bit lopsided for decades, Albus. I am only thinking about balancing the scales." She paused only briefly.

"Certainly when you consider you and I, that negates _anyone_ from Gryffindor house," she replied. "Although, I am certain I _still_ do not know how _you_ were not a Ravenclaw…"

"A conversation we _have_ had and likely will for many years to come, but don't try and deflect," Albus chided. "Just get on with your methodology."

"Yes, well — I eliminated one Ms. Granger-Weasley for that reason, even though I had hoped to lure her away from the Ministry. Ultimately, she is happy there. And, upon further consideration, I want to move away from any one House affiliation dominating the Administration here. It is petty nonsense. All Houses have venerable attributes which make for good leaders."

Minerva didn't remember standing up and found that she had raised her voice, too. Embarrassed, she collected herself and sat back down.

Albus said nothing. He had seen Minerva in fits of passion before; she was never so endearing as when she had a cause.

"We all agreed that Slytherin House has as much to offer Hogwarts as any of the other Houses, yet, it seems to me that we have failed to truly re-integrate them since the last war."

Albus nodded silently again. It was something that had troubled her all throughout her tenure; the general "cold-shoulder" that Slytherin students still got from the other Houses.

Certainly, reputations died hard; and for students sorted into the House of Salazar, it was their reputation for isolationism that garnered ill-feelings from others. Minerva had long since decided that it was going to be her end-of-life's work to repair the damage that the Second War had wrought amongst her students, if nothing else.

Even Albus would have to admit that selecting a Slytherin Headmaster would be an enormous statement.

"I speak the truth, not my fill of it, but as much as I dare speak, and I dare to do so a little more as I grow old." she recited, quietly.

"You were always a fan on Montaigne," he replied.

"It's time I speak it aloud to more than just you, my friend," she said, looking up at him.

"You have my full support, Minerva. Tell me about who you are considering."

"My first candidate is also the weakest. Millie Higgs. Accomplished auror and professional, she has a knack for Divination, which is uncommon among Slytherins, and, from what I hear, can be _very_ helpful when interrogating students in violation of curfew," she said, smirking. "She also returned with the group of Slytherins that Horace led back into the fray during the final battle," she added, more soberly.

Albus looked puzzled. With his brows furrowed, he strained forward to see better only to be reminded of his own limitations.

"How don't I know this name?" He squinted.

"Ah, yes. I forgot," Minerva answered. "She changed her name when she married. Bulstrode. She was Bulstrode when she was here with us, Albus." She stood and paced around the desk.

"Yes, of course," he replied, but there was little indication that he truly remembered who she was; and that was, of course, the problem with Millicent Bulstrode-Higgs. She was fairly non-descript.

Although all indications suggested that neither Millicent nor her husband were racial purists, Minerva had no other exceptional reasons to recommend her. Yet, as the Headmistress mulled it over for the umpteenth time, she saw something appealing about someone relatively non-descript taking the helm. _This_ was exactly why she needed Albus' input, and it was obvious that he knew it.

"Well, she is—how should I say this?—conventionally boring?"

"Yes," Minerva agreed. "Conventional and boring and plain and, perhaps, just the sort of witch we can build some trust around. You know, middle of the road?"

Albus shrugged. "Who else?"

"Draco Malfoy." Now it was Albus' turn to retrieve his eyebrows as they shot well up into his hairline. "Wait, Albus! Just hear me out!" She stalked back around the desk and sat herself down gracefully.

"He's independently wealthy, so he has no commitments that I need to try and pull him away from."

Albus nodded, but remained silent.

"He is all _too_ intimately familiar with how destructive to our society the wars were, and how fragile one can be when they feel as if they have few friends and fewer choices." Minerva held her breath and watched.

Albus nodded, slower this time.

"He has made a name for himself in elite London social circles as someone who supports disbanding the tracking of pure-blood family lines and marriage registry, as well as identifying witches and wizards by their bloodlines."

" _Really_?" Albus asked, barely audible.

"You can see, as well as I, he makes a compelling case. Problem is, he still mourns the loss of his wife, and tends to keep to himself with the exception of visits from his immediate family."

"So, you do not think he would accept the position?" Albus asked.

"No, I am not convinced he would, even though I think he would make an excellent leader."

Even Albus sighed audibly. It took them both several minutes to recover from the disappointment.

"Alright, who else have you considered?" he asked.

"Daphne Greengrass."

"Go on."

"Sister to Astoria, Draco's deceased spouse. A devoted historian of Muggle-Magic relations, she works in the U.N. as part of the Ministry's mission to foster better understanding and cooperation between our two groups." Minerva paused; she felt like she was suddenly speaking too fast.

"She is a talented Legilimens and a bit of a perfectionist. She has no family beyond her nephew who she is close with, but she has been known to do a significant amount of charity work with Muggles covertly."

Albus cocked an eyebrow, suspiciously. "How do you know that if it is covert?"

Minerva smirked. "I've tracked her down to no fewer than four soup kitchens because she has one fatal flaw. She uses her dead sister's name."

His face rearranged itself into a self-satisfied smile.

"And she was, of course, Slytherin when she was here at Hogwarts."

"Most definitely. The Greengrass family has a long tradition of being sorted into Slytherin."

Albus leaned back and raised his arms, eventually folding them behind his head with his chin tilted upwards towards the ceiling. "So, what you are saying is, you've already made your decision then?" he asked.

"I'm fairly sure I have, yes," she answered.

"You didn't need me at all. You never really do." He smiled, still looking away.

"That's not true, Albus. You know I need your advice and your wisdom." Minerva shot one last, longing look at the still empty portrait across the room.

"And it doesn't hurt when I tell you that you are right," he mused.

She raised her glass in silent toast. "It certainly helps," she smirked.

"You'd better get that owl ready, then."

"I already did, Albus. Ten minutes before you arrived."


End file.
